Archive of Our Own

The sun has set and the sky’s a dark navy blue when Pope jimmies open the front door to the Routledge house and slips inside, but he still can’t bring himself to turn the lights on.

The house stretches out in front of him in a scene of dark shapes and shadow, but Pope would know his way through here with his eyes shut. He could tell you which floorboards creek the loudest, he could point out the dent in the couch cushions that’s the shape of him, of all of them, which doors need a little nudge when you open them because the hinges get stuck.

So he makes his way to the kitchen in the dark. Stripes of moonlight pooling through the dusty windows, streaking across the coffee table and all the junk its covered in – beer cans and emptied snack bags and a map of who knows where and socks that could belong to any of them. Because he doesn’t want to see it all in the light.

John B is not dead.

They found out a week after they lost them at sea. It was, quite literally, the worst week of Pope’s life. He couldn’t eat, could barely pull himself out of bed, slept in fits and bursts. Everything kind of passed in a feeling of grey and hollow, and it felt like that was just what life was going to be like from now on. Miserable and always missing something. But then Kie was at his bedroom window, at the end of that week, and she was crying, but she was also smiling. Her eyes bright with light and tears. And she said it. John B’s alive.

Pope had stared at her. Kie had sobbed, and she’d laughed, and then she’d thrown her arms around him, and Pope had buried his face in her shoulder and he’d sobbed and laughed too.

John B was in the Bahamas with Sarah. He’d called Kie from a motel. They were going to get the gold. They were alive.

It had taken he and Kie a while to find JJ. He’d stayed with Pope that first night, the night they thought John B had been lost to the sea. The two of them had sat in Pope’s room, Pope on his bed, JJ leant against a wall, on the floor, and they’d stared silently at nothing until it all became so suffocating that JJ had flicked Pope a look that could have meant absolutely anything and then slipped out Pope’s window without a word.

That had been the last Pope had seen of him. So he and Kie searched the island, their hearts thudding, electrified by the news, until they finally found JJ on the Pogue, smoking a joint, in the same clothes he was wearing when Pope saw him last.

Pope should’ve more concerned, he thinks now, but at that moment he couldn’t really think about anything other than the fact that John B was alive.

And then it had been a matter of more laughing, more crying, the three of them wrapped up together on the desk of the Pogue, softly rocking with the water.

That is, until JJ had wriggled his way out from under both of them, pulled himself to his feet, fixed his cap backward on his head and said, “so how we are we getting there?”

And they should have expected it. It was JJ after all. Pope had looked at Kie. Who had sucked in her bottom lip and looked at him. And a sort of sad understanding passed between them. “JJ,” she said.

“What?” the word was short but muffled, because JJ was rummaging around the Pogue as though looking for something.

“We can’t – ”

“No.” JJ stopped his rummaging and stood in front of them. The sun was setting, Pope realised. JJ was softly backlit, all the fading orange sunlight catching in the blonde hair falling from his cap. But his shoulders were squared, his jaw all tight, nostrils flared. “To hell we can’t, Kie. I mean, shit, if Sarah and John B can make it there even with the Phantom at the bottom of the ocean – and who the hell knows how they managed that – then surely we’d be able to get over there with all our non-sunken boats. Maybe I’m being crazy here but it might even be easier for us, huh?” JJ looked at Pope, and held his lips together in that way he did whenever he was trying to keep his emotions in check. “Those calculations add up, Dr Spock?”  

Pope held his own jaw tight. A wave of nausea rolled up inside of him – he never got sea sick, but suddenly the gentle bob of the boat was an almost unbearable stimulation. “It’s not going to be easy getting to the Bahamas, man – ”

“But it’s not impossible,” JJ interrupted. “That’s what I’m hearing.”

“No it’s not – ” the words came out louder than expected. Pope steadied himself, took a deep breath. He glanced at Kie, her sad, downturned mouth, scared, round eyes. “It’s not going to happen.”

“So, what?” JJ said. “We’re just gonna leave them over there to get the gold by themselves? Just the two of them? How the hell are they even gonna get back, huh? Oh, wait, they can’t come back because John B is wanted for fucking murder! So if we want the gold, or to, you know, ever see John B again, we gotta get our asses over there instead. Comprende?”

He was right. And that was the problem. Because Pope still wanted that gold. And he wanted to find a way back to John B. But in doing that, he would branch his life off into a direction he wasn’t sure he wanted to go in. They had a chance, now, to go back to normal. Polish over all the bumps, walk down a smoother road. He’d ruined his chance at that scholarship, at that better future, and he just couldn’t do it again.  

“JJ,” Kie began, placatingly. “You gotta to think about this – ”

“I am thinking.”

“I know. But just try – I mean. John B said that he was going to handle it. If we just sit tight – ”

“Jesus, Kie!” said JJ loudly, throwing his hands in the air. Kie reeled back, blinking. “Why do we always have to fucking listen to John B. You’re always doing everything for John B. Why don’t you decide something for yourself for once.”

“Dude,” Pope said.

“No,” Kie said, holding an arm out to Pope to stop him before he could defend her. She got to her feet, a stable figure even on the unsteady surface. “You know what, JJ?” she said, the two of them regarding each other with the same rapidly rising, falling, chests, the same rigid stances. “Fuck you. I am deciding something for myself. And it’s that I don’t want to throw my whole life away to go to the chase after shit that caused all this turmoil in the first place.”

JJ hesitated. Knuckles curled into fists at his sides. “Whatever,” he said.

“It’s just not how life works. There are consequences to this shit – things keeping us here – ”

“Maybe for you guys,” JJ interrupted.

“Uh, your restitution, maybe?” Kie said. “You can’t just up and leave while you have charges pressed against you – ”

“None of that shit is gonna matter once I’m in the Bahamas with 400 million dollars’ worth of gold – ”

“Oh, god, grow up, JJ,” Kie said, almost hysterical, throwing her hands up in the air. “Grow! Up!”  

“No, fuck off, Kie – ”

“Guys,” Pope cut in, loudly. But JJ and Kie ignored him, yelling over the top of each other, hands flying, fingers jabbing angrily. “Guys. Guys! SHUT UP.”

They stopped. Looked at him. Chests heaving. The air pulled taut between them.

“Are we really doing this right now?” Pope asked them. “I mean, we just find out our best friend who we thought was dead, is actually alive and safe and we’re what? Two seconds away from strangling each other?”

JJ’s jaw shifted, and he, at least, had the sense to look slightly guilty. The anger on Kie’s face didn’t budge, however. Made Pope feel like he was in trouble as she gazed at him, eyes hard and mouth set in a line.

“I can’t deal with him right now,” she said, waving a hand toward JJ. “I think I need to be alone for a bit.”

“Fine,” JJ said.

“Kie – ” Pope started, but that was it. She left. Shoulder-checking JJ on her way off the boat. “Find me when you wanna be less of an asshole,” she said. And it was just JJ and Pope.

It’s strange, thinking back to this now, and realising that the thought of leaving JJ to go after her hadn’t once crossed Pope’s mind.

The sky was streaky with orange and pink, the air golden and warm, a wind curling gently around them. But everything felt so prickly and cold. JJ snatched off his cap and threw it at the deck, gripped tight at his hair and swore over at the setting sun. Pope got, slowly, to his feet, leaning back against the boat to keep his balance. It was like he’d never been on a boat before, a newbie without his sea legs. Everything wobbly and off-centre and churning nauseatingly inside of him. He was trying to fall into a steady breathing practise when JJ glanced over at him.

“And what about you?”

“I don’t know,” Pope said. But he did. He breathed in. Out. Held JJ’s gaze – which felt both like it was pinning him in place and too scared to touch him all at once. And his voice was softer when he spoke again. “I want to go to college, man.”

And JJ looked away. Nodded. Did that thing with his mouth again – emotions in check. “Yeah. ‘Course,” he said. “The golden boy.”

It wasn’t mocking or mean, the way he said it. A sort of sad smile flitted across his face before it was gone. And it was weird, how Pope felt like he knew JJ completely, as well as he knew himself, but there were still parts of him that Pope was yet to fully understand. The barely-there smile, the way JJ’s gaze flickered over to him before flickering away.

“So that’s it, then?” JJ said. “We’ll never see John B again?”

“We’ll figure it out,” Pope said. “We always do. I mean you know what John B’s like. He’ll turn up out of nowhere in like, two weeks from now. I just can’t…uproot my whole life and whisk away to the Bahamas, you know?”

JJ nodded again. He bent over, scooped up his cap, but just held it in his hands. He didn’t say anything. And suddenly Pope was hit with a horrible thought. Because JJ is so knowable even when he’s not.

“JJ,” he said. “Don’t go by yourself, okay?”

JJ’s eyes widened, like he’d been caught out. “I – ”

“No,” Pope said. And his heart rate was picking up, his stomach churning, churning, churning, like he’d been struck by a bout of seasickness. “Promise me, man. That you won’t try to go to the Bahamas by yourself.”

“Okay, fine, I promise.” But Pope didn’t buy it. And it must’ve been obvious; JJ looked at him as though Pope’s fear was still written all over his face, like he knew they were seconds away from an anxiety attack. He moved closer, placed a hand on Pope’s shoulder. Expression softening in that way it did whenever he tried to calm Pope down – not that the expression was soft, but it was mild and careful in a way that JJ so usually was not. “Pope,” he said. “I promise.”

“Okay,” said Pope, and he believed JJ, that time. “Because I would kill you if you did.”

JJ grinned, and suddenly, everything righted itself, even just for a moment. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from you, man.”

And now it’s been a month since that day, and Pope is in John B’s kitchen in the dark.

He’s looking for his phone charger, of all things. Well, technically it’s John B’s charger, but they all use it, and it’s not like John B’s here to need it. But part of Pope’s punishment for skipping out on his interview, stealing from his dad, shoving his dad, and helping hide a wanted supposed-criminal from the police is that he’s had almost no phone privileges. The deal was that he’d study, work, help out at home, and stay away from his friends for a month. He got his phone back a little over a week ago, though, and was using his charger at home, but it’s a piece of shit and he’s sick of having to hold it in a certain position to get it to work.

He knows John B’s charger is in here somewhere.

He also knows that it’d be easier to find with the lights on, but he knows that seeing the place with the lights on will make him sad.

That’s all. A flick of the switch and seeing the place with it’s all shadowed corners, low ceilings, filled with fuzzy orange light, will only make him think of all the nights the four of them spent here before everything went to shit. Playing card games around John B’s dining table well into the night, bickering with JJ whenever he tried to change the rules, kicking their feet up onto the table, onto each other, laughing because John B somehow always managed to lose. The four of them drinking in John B’s living room, Kie’s hands flying as she dove into her rant-of-the-day. The way she’d smile at Pope whenever he agreed with her, asked her thoughtful questions. The way she’d threaten to strangle JJ whenever he’d tip his head back, close his eyes, and pretend to snore all the way through it.

Pope misses it. How they spend so much time here they all began to smell like it – like weed and dust and saltwater and each other.

He pats his hands down on the kitchen counter, feeling for the charger. There’s an electric plug by the toaster that John B always uses to charge his phone, and his hand clatters through a load of unwashed dishes as he reaches for it.

“You robbing me?”

Pope almost jolts right out of his skin, stumbling away from the counter. There’s the sound of laughter, and when Pope looks over he can see JJ, standing in the kitchen, bathed half in shadow, half in moonlight, grinning at him.

“You scared the shit out of me,” Pope says, holding a hand to his chest.

JJ laughs again. “So did you, dude. I thought the square groupers had come back to finish the job.”

Pope steps back to lean against the fridge, it’s cool against his back –  John B’s house is always a hub of stuffy, smoky air – catches the breath that had been knocked out of him. “The dead square groupers, you mean,” Pope says.

“Yeah. You never know, man,” JJ says, and shrugs. “They didn’t seem like the type of guys who’d let death stop them. Ghost groupers could be on us at any moment.”

Pope snorts, but bites back his retort about ghosts not being real, because JJ seems pretty amused at the thought.

“So…” JJ says, tapping his fingers against the kitchen counter. “Whatcha doing here?”

“Stealing John B’s phone charger,” Pope replies. He looks JJ over, wearing one of his usual caps backwards, bare foot, in a sleeveless shirt that Pope thinks might belong to John B. “You crashing here?”

“Yeah,” JJ says. He doesn’t say anything else about it, but he doesn’t need to. “So, technically, that’s my phone charger. Which means you’re stealing from me.”

“No it doesn’t.”

“Yeah it does, dude. And I’d really appreciate if you asked first.”

Pope rolls his eyes, but sometimes it’s just easier to go along with JJ’s shit. “Fine. Can I please borrow your phone charger?”

“Aw, you said please,” JJ smiles, reaches out to gently pat Pope’s cheek. “You’re so sweet, man.”

Pope shoves JJ’s hand away, which only makes JJ laugh. “So can I have it?”

“Nah.”

“What?” Pope says, but he says it around a spluttery laugh. “Asshole.” JJ gives him a silvery, moonlit grin. And the thing is, they’ve barely seen each other over the past month, and the last time they really saw each other, they’d argued on the Pogue. But standing in John B’s kitchen, still warm like the floorboards had soaked in all the summer sun, musty and cramped and familiar, with JJ grinning at him, it feels like nothing has changed at all.

“I missed you, dude,” Pope says, before he can stop himself.

JJ falters, blinks, caught off guard. And Pope mentally cringes, for being so cheesy. But then JJ’s mouth curves up gently at the edges, and he says, “I missed you, too. It’s been real weird around here without you. And depressing. Like suddenly I’m just thinking about you all the time – oh, uh all of you,” he corrects. “Thinking about all you guys.” He looks down at his fingers on the counter. “I dunno. Let’s just say I was glad when I saw it was you and not the square groupers.”

It’s surprisingly genuine for JJ. But then maybe it’s not. It’s like sometimes all Pope can see is the shit-talking JJ, who lets everything roll of his back, who manages to both be so universally liked and disliked at once, because of how easily he can make you laugh and piss you off. But then there’s the JJ who took the fall for him, who cried in his and Kie’s arms in that hot-tub, who will go quiet and press his lips together because he doesn’t like making people worry by getting emotional.

“Well, I’m not ‘grounded’,” Pope makes quotations with his fingers around the word – it seems so middle school – , “anymore. So we can finally hang out again.” The most they’ve seen each other this month is quick glances across the street around town, a nod or smile of acknowledgment when they catch each other’s eye. Pope knows that JJ’s been busy working, too. He’s pretty sure JJ’s even taken up a second job.

For some reason, this news doesn’t seem to make JJ as happy as Pope thought it would. He keeps staring down at his fingers, his fingertips pressed hard into the kitchen counter, his knuckles bending back at the wrong angle.  

“Yeah,” he says, finally. “Hey. You wan’ a joint?”

Pope is still turned off of weed, so he doesn’t. But they scour the house for the charger, find it in John B’s bedroom, and then settle out on battered old couch on the front porch, watching the way the moon shines on the water while JJ huffs a joint and Pope breathes in all the second-hand smoke.

They kind of talk about nothing for a while, just like they usually do. Shoot-the-shit really is a good term for it when it comes to them. JJ switches from stories about annoying customers to a gory movie he caught on TV last night to whether or not he’ll die from eating an expired can of spaghetti he found in John B’s pantry.

Then they talk about John B. He’s still in the Bahamas, and he still hasn’t gotten the gold. Not yet, at least. Both he and Sarah had been really sick and unable to do anything for the first week, and it kind of delayed everything. They’re still making plans, now, for how they’re going to get the gold and get out of there.

They get all their updates through a burner phone that Kie has. Which means, both Pope and JJ get all their updates through Kie. Pope feels nervous, once she’s brought up. And as they’re talking, he knows that JJ is realising that Pope and Kie have kept in contact even though he and JJ haven’t.

“She mostly just texts me about it,” JJ says, around a mouthful of smoke. A white cloud against the navy blue night. “I haven’t really been able to see her. I think she’s still kinda pissed at me, y’know, coz of our fight on the Pogue.”

She is. Pope has heard her rant about it. Sitting cross-legged on his bed, her curly hair slipping out of her bun, falling around her face, her skin golden in the light from the window.

Pope nods. Leans back against the couch and stares up, watching a tendril of wispy smoke trail up toward the roof of the porch.

He can feel JJ’s eyes on the side of his face. And suddenly the way they’re slipping into silence also makes them feel like they’re tilting sideways.

“Have you…” JJ starts, and Pope stares very determinedly at that wisp of smoke. JJ coughs, clears his throat. “I mean. You and Kie. Are you guys…still…a thing?”

And there it is. Pope swallows. And he can’t bring himself to look at JJ when he answers. “Yeah.”

Out the corner of his eye, he can see JJ move, like he’s turning away. “Oh.”

It’s been a weird, and amazing, month because of it. He and Kie. She’s not allowed over often, but when she can come over, it’s the highlight of Pope’s day, year, his whole life. Her marching into his bedroom like she owns the place, flicking her hair over her shoulder, all bare golden-brown arms, long golden-brown legs. Her lying back with her head on his pillow, so when she leaves it still smells faintly like her shampoo. Her smiling at him and knocking her knee against his when they sit together, their hands brushing, her head falling onto his shoulder, once, as she fell asleep.

And her kissing him, briefly, before she leaves. It’s the only time she ever kisses him. Pope had tries to kiss her once, while they were talking on his bed, but she had pushed him away, laughed, told him to let her finish her “very informative” rant about why everyone should drink oat milk. It had been very light-hearted, so Pope hadn’t been too worried about it, though a little embarrassed. But they hadn’t kissed after that. And when she left, she once again gave him only a very quick peck on the lips.

He doesn’t know what it means. Or what this thing between them is. But there’s definitely…something. And he likes it, even if its not exactly what he’d thought it be. Because it’s Kie. And he’d do anything with her.

“I’m sorry, man,” Pope says, and now he spares a glance at JJ. He has his elbows resting on his knees, his back hunched over, staring at the smoking joint in his hands. “I should’ve told you.”

JJ pulls back, meets Pope’s gaze, and he shrugs. “Nah, dude, you didn’t have to tell me. It’s not like there aren’t things you can’t keep to yourself. Don’t worry about it.”

“Yeah, but, pogues don’t lie to pogues.”

“Sure they do, dude,” JJ says, and even in the dark Pope can see his weak grin. “We keep stuff from each other all the time.”

Pope remembers sinking Topper’s boat, unbeknownst to Kie and John B. But still, what JJ says is a gross exaggeration. They don’t do it all the time. At least, JJ hardly keeps anything from any of them, as far as Pope’s concerned.

So Pope says, “you don’t.”

And JJ looks at him. Like really looks at him. Pope can see his eyes flickering, as though he’s trying to read something across Pope’s face. “Yeah I do.”

“Like what?” Pope asks.

Still, JJ just gazes at him. A muscle ticks in his jaw. There’s a gap between them on the couch, enough space that Kie could probably sit between them, if she squeezed, and Pope suddenly wants to cross it. Like by somehow getting closer, he’ll be able to see whatever’s going on inside JJ’s head.

“You don’t wanna know, dude,” is what JJ finally says.

“C’mon, man. I’m not asking for your porn history, or whatever.”

JJ snorts, shakes his head, breaking their locked gaze. “Oh yeah, you definitely don’t wanna know that.”

“So just tell me. Just one thing you’ve kept from us.”

“Fine,” JJ says, sighing dramatically. “One time I used your toothbrush to brush my dog’s teeth.”

Pope recoils in disgust, but then remembers, “You don’t even have a dog.”

“Oh, yeah, I have a dog. That’s another thing I didn’t tell you.”

Pope reaches over to punch JJ’s arm, and shuffles over a little in the process. “Seriously, dude,” Pope says. “It’d be cool if you did have a dog, though.”

“It’d be fucking awesome,” JJ says. He glances over at Pope again, and does a little double take when he sees that Pope has halved the distance between them. “Why do you want to know so bad, anyway? What are you, a cop?”

Pope snorts. “I don’t know,” he says. And that’s genuine. He really doesn’t know why he feels like he needs to know what JJ has been keeping from him – from them all. Maybe it’s because he’s always noticed those unknown parts of JJ. He’s always felt like he knows JJ pretty well, that maybe he and JJ know each other best out of all of them, so it doesn’t sit right well with him whenever that’s shown not to be completely true.

“How bout you tell me something first,” JJ says. “I’ll ask you a question and you answer. A secret for a secret, eh, Muchacho?”

Pope immediately knows what he wants to know. “It can’t be anything about me and Kie.”

“Why not?”

“Because, dude, it feels wrong,” Pope says. “And we haven’t…done anything that I know you’d wanna know about, anyway.”

JJ’s face is unreadable. “No?”

“No. We’ve just kissed, that’s all. But I mean we’ve hardly had time to see each other, since I’ve been grounded and all that…” Pope realises that he’s doing exactly what he just said he didn’t want to do, and cuts off.

“Huh,” JJ says, like he finds that interesting. Then he tips his head back against the couch and smokes up at the ceiling. And Pope doesn’t know why, but the whole ‘talking about him and Kie with JJ’ thing has made him anxious – probably because of the way their relationship could fuck the whole dynamic up. So as he watches JJ smoke, the way the moonlight washes over the column of his throat as he tilts his head right back, exhales billowing white smoke from a careful, practised mouth – the thought of taking a hit suddenly seems more appealing.

Without thinking, Pope sits up and leans over JJ to take the joint from his hand, covering JJ’s body with half of his. He glances down at JJ’s face, to see if he’ll object, but JJ is lying back, relaxed, against the couch, watching Pope loom over him with lidded eyes, and he doesn’t say anything.

Pope falls back against the couch and puts the joint between his lips, inhales mindfully. JJ is suddenly a very warm presence beside him. They had gotten even closer when Pope grabbed the joint – this couch is old and squashy and dented in at the middle, so people kind of fall together in it. Pope can feel the rough material of JJ’s board shorts brush against the bare skin above his own knee.

“It’s your turn,” Pope says, voice thick with smoke. “What I said about me and Kie counts, so.”

“Hm.” JJ holds a hand up between them and Pope takes another hit before putting the joint in it. JJ smokes. And smokes and smokes. The weed settles in Pope’s system; starts to make him feel loose and relaxed. Floaty. At some point, his leg became pressed right up against JJ’s leg – Pope can almost feel a sort of purposeful force there, where their knees are touching – warm, damp skin against skin. Like JJ is doing it intentionally.

And they’re doing that thing that they sometimes do. Even when they’re not under the influence of anything. Where they kind of just fall into a comfortable silence out of nowhere. Everything else falling away, their minds drifting off, bodies at ease. It’s a pogue thing, really. Sometimes they can drift off in the middle of a conversation. Probably borne out of knowing each other so well, being so comfortable. Not every thought has to be finished.

“JJ,” Pope says, and turns his head. They’re both lying against the couch, heads tipped back, so when Pope looks over he’s gazing right at the side of JJ’s face. Only a hands-width apart. “You still need to tell me,” he says. And JJ moves his head slowly, looks at him. Their faces are even closer like this, but Pope doesn’t feel like he has to move. They’re comfortable with each other, like he said. “A secret for a secret.”

JJ’s eyes flicker over Pope’s face. Presses his lips together, emotions in check. And they really are in check, because Pope can’t read JJ’s expression at all. He looks thoughtful, maybe. His gaze drops, like he’s looking at Pope’s chin. Or his mouth. Pope’s leg is burning hot, up against JJ’s, because JJ always runs at 300 degrees.

JJ pushes up from couch, just a little. And Pope is about to say something but he doesn’t know what. Because then JJ leans in. And presses his mouth to Pope’s.

Every single thought leaves Pope’s head.

And then it all becomes clear in little incriminates. JJ’s body pushed up against his own. JJ’s hand, warm and clammy, gently cupping the side of Pope’s face. JJ’s chapped lips on Pope’s chapped lips. JJ kissing him. Like he wants to.

JJ is kissing him.

Pope’s whole body seizes up.

And JJ wrenches himself away.

“Shit.” JJ scrambles back on the couch, tearing open that space between them. No longer touching. “Shit. Shit! Sorry, dude. I – ” His face looks stark-white in the dim light, eyes round and panicked, mouth hanging open. “I’m sorry.”

“Why did you do that?” Pope asks, stunned, and he realises how stupid the question is as soon as it comes out of his mouth.

JJ blinks. He is perched a little ways away on the couch like a wild animal, but hunched over and scared, like prey. “I mean,” he says. And a smile wobbles at the corner of his mouth, small, sad. “You wanted a secret, right?” Pope can’t think of a single thing to say. And his silence must make JJ even more nervous, because he races to fill it. “Well, there you go. There’s the big secret, dude.”

JJ, kissing him. JJ, wanting to kiss him. Him. Pope. His mind is reeling. He places his hand on the couch to push himself up, get to his feet, and for some reason, the movement makes JJ flinch. Lean back into the couch with a hand raised in front of him.

Pope glances at him. “Sorry,” JJ says, like he has to apologise for getting scared. And then, like he just needs to be sure, “you’re not gonna punch me, are you?”

“What?” Pope asks. Then it registers, makes his heart sick. “No, dude. Of course not. Why the hell would I do that?”

“Because I kissed you,” JJ says. He still looks like a frightened animal, but he lowers his hand. “Because, uh. I like you.”

Hearing those words come from his mouth gives Pope that weird off-kilter, churning feeling, like he’s sea sick on solid ground, but he holds himself steady. Says, “it’s fine, man. I’m cool with it, really.”

JJ swallows. He nods.

“But…” Pope starts, sitting up at the edge of the couch, elbows resting on his thighs, like a fucking dad or something, about to tell his kid some disappointing news. “I mean. I’m with Kie, so, you know, I – ”

“Oh, dude,” JJ interrupts, shaking his head, making a pbbbttt sound with his mouth, like obviously. “Yeah. I know, of course. I didn’t expect you – ”

“Okay, because you’re my best friend and I wouldn’t want – ”

“No, man, it’s all good. I just…smoked too much weed, you know? Got my head all weird.”

“Okay,” says Pope. “I just don’t want things to be awkward between us.”

“Yeah. No, no way. It’ll be fine. We can just forget this ever happened,” JJ says.  

“Cool,” Pope says.

JJ nods again. “Cool.”

And then silence. But it’s not the easy silence, like the one they had leisurely slipped into before. It’s a disjointed silence, the wrong shape and feel and colour. The two of them on different sides, different beats, suddenly miles apart from each other on the couch. JJ doesn’t look at him, picks at a loose thread on the back of a couch pillow. Pope’s heart hasn’t stopped thudding. And he finds himself looking at JJ’s mouth. The way his lips press together, twist, holding back some sort of emotion. Pope thinks about how they’d felt against his own mouth, warm and surprisingly careful, and then he doesn’t. He thinks about kissing Kie. Her lips a little sticky with her coconut lip balm.

Silence, silence, silence. He wishes JJ would say something. But that loose pillow thread seems like the most interesting thing in the world to him now. And so now Pope is thinking about how JJ had cupped his face, how he’d held his leg against Pope’s. And he thinks back to all the other times JJ has touched him. Hand on Pope’s shoulder, on Pope’s neck, his face. Arm around his shoulder, his back. Their sides pressed together in the back of the van, knees bumping, hands brushing as they passed each other a beer, a joint. All of it so casual, easy, familiar. But it had meant something different to JJ, Pope realises. The same way brushing against Kie’s skin means something different to him.

“I should probably get going,” Pope says, finally. “It’s late and I’m only just starting to get my freedom back. Don’t wanna ruin it now.”

“Oh, yeah, dude. Better get back before Heyward grounds your ass again,” JJ says.

Pope gets to his feet, hesitates, begins to cross the porch. It feels weird to just leave, but he doesn’t know what else to do. And he does have to get home. Last thing he wants is to get his freedom stripped away right as it's being placed back in his hands. Because things are about to go back to normal, now, he can feel it. Well, as normal as they can with the fact that JJ has just kissed him, and with he and Kie now dating, and with John B in the Bahamas. But it's going to be alright, after this. He's working, Kie's working, JJ's working. They'll make a living. They'll finish school and head off to college and John B and Sarah will come back, tanned and golden. 

“Hey, wait, don’t forget your charger,” JJ calls after him, makes Pope halt just before the porch steps. JJ holds the charger out in his hand. Pope moves, reaches over and takes it. And he sees the way JJ carefully moves his fingers – his rings glinting even in the dark – to make sure their hands don’t touch.

It leaves Pope rooted in the spot, for a moment. A wave of emotion building up in his stomach. Like maybe things won't be as normal as he thought. 

“JJ,” he starts. But he doesn’t know how to finish. So it just lingers in the air for moment, between them. JJ, still squashed back into the couch, Pope standing awkwardly in front of him. He says, finally, “uh. I’ll see you, later," just so he doesn't leave him in silence. 

He’s turning to leave a second time when JJ calls out to him again.

“I guess this is as good as any time to tell you,” JJ says. Pope looks at him, raises an eyebrow. “Since I’m kinda on a roll today, of fucking things up.”

And that's never a sentence you want to hear. 

“...What did you do?” Pope asks.  

“I broke my promise.” 

“What?” Pope asks, but even as he says it, he goes cold with dread.

"I'm sorry, man. But I had to. It just feels like there aren't any other options for me. And after tonight -"

"JJ," Pope interrupts. "What did you do."

From where Pope stands, JJ is almost completely in shadow. Unknowable in the dark. But there's a flash of white, like teeth, a smile. 

“I’m going to the Bahamas,” JJ says. “To get the gold."